Carousel (or How Everyone Found Out About Jack & Gabriel)
by Ms Trick
Summary: Jack doesn't want anyone to know about him and Gabriel. But, of course, everyone finds out one way or another: through an apple, a missed shot, a stolen file. [Reaper76] [McHanzo]


**Carousel**

 **(or How Everyone Found Out About Jack & Gabriel)**

* * *

Akande slowly opened and closed his right hand, the prosthetic not yet fully familiar, while he assessed each of the Talon council members. There was a debate over their next moves, what aspects of the crisis to capitalize on. Several holographic windows hung suspended over the center of the table: a silent video feed, maps marked with destroyed cities, a pair of photos.

"Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes," Maximilien stated. "The top two inductees in the US Soldier Enhancement Program. Their performances recently garnered the attention of the UN. Both have been tapped to join what they're calling the Overwatch project."

"All other military attempts to repulse the omnics have failed," Vialli dismissed with a wave of his hand. "There's no reason to think this will be any different."

"Still, we can't let something like Overwatch go unmonitored," Hakim declared.

Akinjide Adeyemi nodded, but his eyes were unfocused. With his imposing physical form and the horned doomfist catching the light, he resembled a bored regent. Akande, at his side, was irritated, though his face revealed nothing. Adeyemi was the reason he was here, but his disinterest in Talon's overarching, international goals marked him as a future weakness.

As the discussion droned on, Akande's attention was drawn to the feed replaying in the air: aerial footage of soldiers running drills at the SEP base. The holograph flickered in the low light.

"There is an opportunity here that you are missing," Akande stated, slicing through the conversation.

Vialli had been rudely cut off mid-sentence. Akande bore the other the council members' piercing gazes without flinching, despite being nearly half their ages.

After rewinding the footage several seconds, he enhanced a corner until the image integrity threatened to dissolve into pixels. The incident was only just visible, and it was brief. While walking from the training field towards a low building, Reyes slung a friendly arm around Morrison's shoulders and the instant they rounded a corner, pulled him into a kiss.

Hakim raised his eyebrows. Adeyemi laughed and clapped a hand onto Akande's shoulder.

"That's my man. Always noticing the details. What's your plan?"

"The Reaper."

* * *

 _The world-class sniper rolls across the hallway and ducks behind the corner, listening to see if she's been noticed. She knows that she's exposed here and so dives through the automatic door. Taking her position, she waits._

 _And waits._

 _Ugh, this is SO boring._

Fareeha huffed and flopped out of her tactical crouch. How did her mother do this? Stay in one place for hours and hours?

Sitting on the ground, she gazed through the plexiglass section of the bannister down at the quiet fourth floor. The sun set pretty early in Zurich in winter, so it was dark already, but the only room with all its lights on was the kitchen. Everywhere else was only half-lit. Torbjörn said it was an energy-saving measure, until the entire staff was moved in. Reinhardt said it was gloomy. Fareeha agreed with Reinhardt.

Everything was shiny and brand new, the walls freshly painted in white, blue and a little bit of yellow. She wouldn't tell anyone, but it made her a little nervous, running around this big, empty building by herself. Usually, she'd be begging Reinhardt to tell her more stories or be holding Torbjörn's tools while he muttered in Swedish at some device.

But they were too busy these days. Everyone was, including her mother. That's why she'd teach herself to become a great sniper too. She was going to be even better than her mom at protecting the innocent. And then she'd join Overwatch and be able to hang out with all of them all the time. Even though Gabriel laughed and said that she didn't sit still long enough to be a good sniper, that she kept jumping up and running into action.

She'd show him.

Recommitted to her mission, she scooted behind the opaque part of the bannister and pulled the scope out of her sweater pocket. Her mom wouldn't let her borrow a whole sniper rifle, but that was okay because the scope was the coolest part anyway. Peering downstairs, she had a clear line of sight to the kitchen. She could even see the crumbs on the countertop from the toast she'd had that morning.

"The more you know, the less likely you are to be surprised. If possible, always check out the area beforehand," she recited under her breath.

Her target got coffee around 4pm every day. That's why she planted one of two communicators inside her stuffed pachimari toy and purposefully left him in the kitchen. Torbjörn's only warning when he gave her the paired devices was to not break them.

 _Finally, the target is in the sniper's sights. Evil Gabriel going to his evil kitchen lair to get evil coffee. She lines up her shot… Oh no, it's blocked by another person. Enemy or civilian?_

Fareeha thought for a moment before deciding that she couldn't pretend Jack was a bad guy too. He gave her cookies even after her mom scolded him about it. She'd have to wait for a clear shot, and in the meantime, she'd gather — what was the word? Intel!

The two men's voices began to trickle out of the hidden communicator as they came in range of her pachimari. Her device was too big to stay in her ear, so she just held it in place with her palm. She tried not to fidget, even though she was kind of chilly, sitting on the floor.

"—not trying to hide anything. If they find out, they find out. I just don't think it's a good idea to be obvious about it," Jack was saying.

"Yeah, yeah," Gabriel groused, pouring coffee.

"Gabe…"

"I get it. I don't want to be a liability for you either."

Jack caught Gabriel's dog tags in his hand and gazed at them with a small smile, murmuring something the pachimari didn't pick up. Still annoyed, Gabriel pulled away to return the milk to the fridge. Jack watched him in silence.

Fareeha yawned. Her arms were getting tired from holding up both the scope and the earpiece. What exactly was the point of intel, anyway? All she wanted was to line up her shot and watch Gabriel jump when she yelled BANG into the communicator. And then she'd run downstairs and tell him he was dead because of her sniper skills.

"Quit looking at me like that," Gabriel growled, shoving past Jack to return to his coffee cup.

Jack's jaw tensed and he grabbed Gabriel's shoulder, pulling him back around to face him. Fareeha waited for the follow-up punch, but then—

 _Oh, gross, adults kissing._

Fareeha rolled her eyes. There went her shot.

Gabriel's hands came up to cradle Jack's face and stayed there when the kiss broke.

"This doesn't fix things," Gabriel said, soft tone belying the rebuke.

"I know. It's just, I don't want you to think…"

"I know."

 _This mission sucks._

There had to be better, cooler ways of protecting the innocent than this. After a baleful glare at the earpiece, now emitting more kissy sounds, Fareeha decided to go find Ingrid. Maybe baby Brigitte would be awake by now and she could play with her some more.

* * *

It was an apple that tipped Amélie off. A small, simple gesture.

She was waiting in the bustling HQ lobby for Gérard to finish his meeting with Reyes and Morrison. He was late.

Bored, she pulled her long, dark hair into a ponytail. Gérard liked her to wear it down when they went to dinner, but after all those years in the ballet, it felt more natural for her to have it up.

A familiar voice said: "Hello there, Amélie."

"Captain Amari, it's nice to see you again."

"Just Ana, please," she said warmly, taking the chair opposite the couch Amélie was lounging on.

Amélie took stock of the older woman's appearance. Since the last time they'd seen each other, strands of steel grey had begun to streak Ana's hair and there was a deep weariness about her. Amélie couldn't imagine the strain she must go through. There was no one to take her mantel yet, as team leader in the field or as their preeminent sniper, and so Ana was still regularly sent out on missions.

It must weigh on her terribly, Amélie thought, all those lives she'd had to take, all those near-misses on her own life. While she admired Ana's grit and envied her contributions to the world, Amélie was nevertheless grateful her role in Overwatch was support, to be there for her husband, to remind him of the world he was fighting for.

"The meeting is over?"

"Yes. They're just finishing up."

"Has the change in command happened then?"

"Gérard's told you, has he? I worry about him confiding so much in you."

At Amélie's vexed look, Ana hastened to add: "Oh, it has nothing to do with your trustworthiness. I'm more concerned you may become a target yourself. There's already been more than one attempt on Gérard's life."

"I know that, don't I?"

Amélie tried not to dwell on those incidents, the hours she'd paced around that hospital waiting room, the week she spent clutching her phone, desperate for information, fearing the worst. Gérard was a fighter though, always had been. He'd pursued her despite some admittedly rude rebuffs on her part, charming her outside the theatre, making her laugh. His devotion to her was rivaled only by his devotion to his work. She was proud of him for that. Even if she was captured or killed, she knew Gérard wouldn't stop trying to make the world a better place. He was untouchable.

"Ah, there they are," Amélie said.

At the far end of the room, Gérard had emerged with Reyes and Morrison, who was a few bites into a red apple. As though his All-American Boy image needed any more reinforcement.

"That will be my cue," Ana sighed, standing. "Look after yourself out there."

Gérard moved towards them, pausing to murmur a few words to Ana.

Amélie's gaze shifted to the two men conversing on the other side of the busy lobby. Morrison was talking and gesturing animatedly. He seemed excited and at the same time, guilty about being excited. Expression neutral, Reyes plucked the apple from his fingers and took a bite.

Then, instead of handing it back or finishing it, he gently shoved it into Morrison's mouth. Morrison blinked in surprise. He held Reyes' gaze for a few seconds, then slowly reached up to grab the fruit.

Amélie tilted her head as a smirk formed on her lips. Well.

"Darling," Gérard said in French as he approached.

She returned his kiss and let him help her into her trench coat.

"Isn't it rude for Morrison to be eating during your meeting?" She asked.

Gérard laughed.

"Ah, leave him be. He's been under a great deal of stress lately and I'm afraid he's just agreed to be put under more."

"He accepted the role then?"

"Only after Reyes accepted the offer to command our covert operations."

"That doesn't surprise me," she said, taking his arm.

The streetlight shone down warmly, but a chilly wind was blowing.

"I will admit, I'm a little concerned," Gérard murmured to her as they walked, huddling into each other.

"Oh?"

"Reyes is famous for talking back and mouthing off, but when something truly pains him, he says nothing. He has a great deal of respect for Morrison and is no doubt glad on his behalf, but I can't imagine he doesn't feel upset at being passed over for the promotion."

"Do you think the UN made a mistake?"

"Truthfully, no. It would be challenging to find a better tactical leader in battle than Reyes, but Overwatch needs someone with Morrison's optimism at its head."

Amélie nodded, thoughtful. She replayed in her mind the way Morrison's eyes held Reyes' as he reached for the apple, and her lips curled into a small smile.

"Don't worry, mon amour. I have a feeling it will all work out somehow."

* * *

Angela dawdled on the way back to HQ, her lab coat folded over her arms. It was such a nice day, warm and breezy, their first taste of real spring weather. She turned her face into the sun, delaying the moment she'd have to re-enter the hyper air-conditioned, sterile halls of her workplace.

The smell of smoke wafted towards her and she spotted Jesse leaning against one of the elms that framed the building entrance.

"Howdy, doc," he said with a tip of his hat.

"You know how I feel about your smoking," she chided, waving a hand through the air in front of her face.

He shrugged and gave her a winning smile. It was difficult to stay mad at him for long.

"Do you know where Commander Morrison is?"

"In the hangar with the boss, checkin' out the new rocket ship."

"I doubt it's a rocket ship," Angela laughed.

"Looks enough like one. Just saw the engineering team they were meetin' with head out for lunch, so I reckon the Commander'd have a moment free now."

She thanked him and took the plunge back into the frigid interior, pulling on her coat as she made her way through the labyrinthine facilities. Entering the hangar was always intimidating. It was dominated by a pair of battle-scarred drop-ships, now starkly contrasted by the sleeker, newer iteration. There was some activity at the far end of the cavernous space, mechanical noises and a burble of commentary. Likely Torbjörn lost in some project. Other than that, the hangar was fairly quiet.

Angela paused inside the door, where there was an open stretch of well-lit space. Squinting, she spotted the two commanders talking – no, arguing – in front of the new drop-ship. She bit her lip.

It had been impossible not to notice the rising tension, Gabriel's fuse shortening, as Jack fully settled into the role of Strike Commander. It gnawed at her, that there seemed to be no solution to this, nothing anyone could say to smooth this over. She worried the animosity would build until it exploded.

Crates of cargo and heavy equipment created a maze that she picked her way through, careful of her step. More than once she had to backtrack after hitting a dead end, the path blocked by complicated machinery or stacks of supplies. Glimpses of the commanders, as well as snatches of heated conversation, led her in the right direction.

"It'll be fine," she heard Gabriel insist, patience markedly gone. "Moira's even tested this on herself, with no notable issues. You've seen how she can move."

Angela was close enough now to see a flimsy table covered in specs and data, which neither man was paying any attention to. Jack's coat and Gabriel's hoodie had been thrown across the backs of fold-out chairs, likely a response to the stifling air of the hangar. Even their bulletproof chest gear had been divested. It was strange to see them devoid of armored outerwear and gloves.

They looked younger, she thought, though you'd never mistake them for civilians.

"We have no idea how those enhancements might interact with all that stuff they pumped into us," Jack said, frowning.

He paced back and forth in front of the unmarked hull of this ship. Standing a few feet away, Gabriel watched him with folded arms, tense.

"So, we'll have Ziegler look into it. Think about this. With that level of mobility and stealth, I could save more lives, prevent casualties. It'd be so much easier to keep the shiny Overwatch reputation intact while performing those assassinations we technically don't do."

"Goddamnit Gabe, this isn't about your job, it's about you," Jack barked, pulling off his eyepiece in exasperation.

"I didn't get into this to stay safe and healthy," Gabriel snapped. "Some of us have messier jobs than managing PR and going to conferences and making decisions from behind a desk."

"Which is my point," Jack said through grit teeth, setting the eyepiece down on the table. "I already risk losing you to countless outside threats. I don't want to add internal risks to the list of things to worry about."

His gaze lingered on the fresh shrapnel scars dotting Gabriel's face. Though Gabriel didn't flinch, Angela's gut twisted and she slowed to a stop behind a cargo container. Jack continued to argue his point, but she didn't hear a word.

On their last mission, a sudden explosion scattered their squad and she hadn't been able to return to Gabriel in time to heal the skin completely. More than anyone, she wanted for him and their other agents to have a higher chance of escaping harm, but she could not bring herself to endorse Moira's work.

It stung that Gabriel had requested Moira be the go-to healer for Blackwatch from now on, but that wasn't the only reason she begrudged the Irishwoman. Moira's disregard for ethical standards and blasé attitude towards the outcome of her experiments on others struck Angela as barbaric. The fact that her collaboration with Overwatch had to be a highly-guarded secret was evidence enough that Moira ought to be treated with suspicion.

Angela was about to make her presence known to the commanders and offer her opinion on the matter. But then Gabriel stepped into Jack's personal space and slammed a hand on either side of his head, trapping him against the drop-ship and effectively shutting him up.

"You're getting worked up, Commander." Gabriel's voice was a low, amused growl.

Jack's mouth flattened and his blue eyes narrowed into a glare. Gabriel gripped the side of Jack's bare neck with one large hand, holding him in place and leaning in even closer.

"What exactly is it you're worried about losing?"

"Gabe—"

Angela was not prepared to see him kiss Jack, hard, and she flung both hands over her mouth to swallow her gasp of surprise.

Jack inhaled sharply through his nose and his eyelids drifted to half-mast, but otherwise his body was rigid, as though he was willing himself not to respond. However, it was clear Gabriel knew exactly what he was doing. His other hand skimmed down Jack's chest, thumb dragging slow, measured strokes over an already hardening nipple.

Jack's resistance crumbled. The tension melted out of his broad shoulders and his mouth opened into Gabriel's with a low moan. He leaned into the grip on his neck. But the instant his hands landed on Gabriel's hips, Gabriel abruptly pulled back.

"That?" Gabriel asked.

Winded and reeling from the kiss, Jack didn't get a chance to form a response. He exhaled in a rush as Gabriel unceremoniously palmed the bulge in his pants.

"This?"

"Gabe…"

Finding his voice, Jack pushed at Gabriel's chest, an attempt to hold him back that was more symbolic than effectual. Nevertheless, Gabriel paused. From her vantage point, Angela couldn't see the way he was staring, but it made Jack's already flushed face even redder.

"This doesn't fix things," Jack finally mumbled.

"You never minded it as a solution to arguments in the past," Gabriel retorted, leisurely nudging a muscled thigh between Jack's legs.

"That doesn't mean this conversation is— Nn…"

"Is what?" Gabriel asked, innocent tone betrayed by the push of his hips, the stroke of his thumb up Jack's jugular, the sure actions of his hand.

"Is… Doesn't mean I'm okay with Moira's—"

Gabriel lifted his thigh a fraction, adding pressure from below to the lazy caresses over Jack's hard-on.

"…Damnit," Jack sighed, eyes shutting as he ground forward. "How do you still manage to do this to me?"

A grin split Gabriel's face.

"Not difficult when you want my cock this badly."

"You sure it's not the other way around?"

Jack let out a stifled grunt as the hold on his neck tightened. This time, he caught Gabriel's mouth eagerly, their lips slanting over one other's. Whatever Gabriel's unseen hand was doing, it was rapidly elevating Jack's breathing into panting. He clutched at Gabriel's waist.

Angela's eyes widened as she heard the sound of a belt being unbuckled. Her surprise was echoed by Jack.

"Wait– Here?" He managed to gasp out. "Someone could–"

He cut himself off this time, gritting his teeth to suppress the cry that nearly tore out of him. In the small space between them, Gabriel's hand made rough movements, speeding up, slowing down, then speeding up again, until Jack's grip twisted helplessly Gabriel's dark shirt.

"There's a rumor going around that I suck the Strike Commander's dick for special treatment," Gabriel rumbled, guttural. "Wonder what they'd say if they knew how good you can be for me."

"Uhn—" Jack groaned, head falling back, lips parting, lost to the world.

Angela stood frozen in place, panicked, blindsided, mortified, unsure how she ended up in this situation and at a loss as to how to undo her intrusion.

A memory came to her unbidden: Jack's last annual check-up.

As Head of Medical Research, it didn't normally fall to her to do basic health checks on Overwatch agents but for security reasons, she personally saw to the highest ranking staff. There had been some peculiar marks on Jack — bruises on his neck and on his hips, as well as abrasions on his wrists. She'd questioned him, perplexed, as he hadn't been in the field for a while. His reply had been evasive, some muttering about a brutal sparring session.

She had mentally thumbed through the roster of agents, trying to pinpoint which of them were strong enough to leave bruises on an SEP soldier with their bare hands. Reinhardt and Winston were possibilities, but Reinhardt had been away on a mission for the past month and Winston never sparred if he could help it, preferred to observe and strategize. That left Reyes. The other SEP soldier.

"Well, tell Gabriel to go easier next time. He shouldn't be taking his anger out on you."

Above the press of her stethoscope, the back of Jack's neck had flushed pink. She'd chocked it up to irritation that she'd guessed who had beaten him in a fight, but as Angela remembered that conversation now, a blush warmed her own cheeks.

The noises coming from the other side of the cargo container weren't helping. She may have been a medical professional who knew every cranny of the human body, but she was a young woman too. She rested her forehead against the cool steel for a few seconds, feeling the rapid thud of her heart. It wasn't just adrenaline. Heat curled in her loins. Her panties were damp from more than just sweat. She knew she'd be hearing Jack's soft groans in her head that night as she lay in her bed, alone.

With a sigh, she thought that she'd have to relinquish that little crush she'd had on him since their introduction, when she was a wide-eyed 17-year-old. That had been the first time she'd stepped into these facilities. An exclusive invitation while she'd still been in university. It had changed the course of her career, of her life. It felt like it was yesterday and years ago at the same time.

She'd also have to reconsider her assessment of the tension that had been in the air since Jack's promotion to Strike Commander. Right now, she was too muddled to determine if their fraternizing made things less likely to explode or more.

She crept back the way she'd come, desperate not to be heard. If she could cross the open stretch of well-lit space by the door without being seen, she'd be home free. Unfortunately, she was smack in the center of it when the door slammed open. The echo crashed through the air and Angela squeaked, knowing without turning around that Jack and Gabriel would have a clear line of sight to her blatant attempt at escape.

The man who entered was one of the doctors on her staff. He skidded to a stop and his shoulders slumped in palpable relief.

"Mercy!" he gasped, out of breath, failing to notice her bright red face.

"U-um. What is it?" She stuttered, voice unnaturally high, sure she could feel the commanders' stares piercing her back.

"They told me to get you immediately. Emergency. A man's been brought in. Japanese. Severely wounded, nearly dead."

"Oh thank god," she mumbled and followed the doctor out of the hangar at a run.


End file.
